


feels like fire

by CyrusBreeze



Category: Station 19 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Character Study, Child Abuse, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyrusBreeze/pseuds/CyrusBreeze
Summary: Fire has defined almost every major moment in Deborah Frankel's life. It has molded her, shaped her, and turned her into the person she is today, and for that, she is eternally grateful to the flames that have created her.orThe one where I write a 6k character study for a person that has been in like four episodes and who most of the fandom dislikes.





	feels like fire

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever just, start off hating a character but then you develop an original backstory for her that accidentally becomes six thousand words and all of a sudden you're in love with her? 
> 
> Just me? Oh. 
> 
> Anyway, Frankel is my lesbian mom now and none of y'all can take that from me. 
> 
> This was sorta therapeutic to write and I blame my therapist for making me write something to help be process my own internalized queerphobia. This sorta blew up and I'm sure Heather will be proud of me. lolol 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! 
> 
> Trigger warnings: homophobia, child abuse, and minor character death

**i. blaze**

Deborah Frankel’s first memory is of fire. Bright and burning and blinding fire. She doesn’t remember being rescued, doesn’t remember her mom throwing her down three stories. Deborah only remembers the fire and how hot it was. 

Deborah doesn’t remember her mom, she was four when the fire claimed her mom’s life, and sometimes she gets fleeting images, but she doesn’t have a concrete memory of her. Her mom loved her, Deborah knows. Her mom sacrificed everything for her. 

And at that moment, Deborah is painfully aware of fire and its power. 

**ii. inferno**

Deborah’s second memory is also about fire, but one of a different kind. She remembers, clear as day, coming home and announcing that she was going to marry Barbara Evans, her best friend from preschool. 

Her grandfather spanks her for that. Afterward, when he hugs her, he takes Deborah’s hands into his own and said, “Deborah, you cannot marry another woman. It is a sin against God, and if you lie with another woman, you will burn in the eternal lake of fire.” 

“I don’t care if I have to burn,” Deborah responds. “I like Barbara. She’s my best friend.” 

Grandfather just shakes his head. “Do you remember the fire at your old house?” He asks. 

Deborah nods. 

“Your mom burned to death,” Grandfather said. “And you almost died with her. And if you’re not careful, you’ll end up just like her.” 

It took Deborah years, through high school, to finally understand what that meant. Her Grandfather believed that the fire that claimed her mother’s life was somehow punishment for her sin of having a child outside of marriage. Her grandfather believed that her mother deserved to burn. 

**iii. spark**

Deborah’s next memory of fire is of a far more figurative kind. 

It’s the way she feels when she makes out with her best friend in the 7th grade. Kissing Linda Walters makes perfect sense. It makes Deborah feel alive in a way that she’s never felt before

It’s a secret sort of fire, one they have to keep hidden. The consequences if Linda’s parents or Deborah’s grandparents find out will be dire. 

But Deborah’s spark is alight. She loves this, loves Linda, she thinks. Her spark grows, untamed, deep in her soul.

It’s here she decides that this isn’t wrong. 

It can’t be wrong. Something that ignites something so incredible within her can’t be sin. And still, Deborah thinks, if this is what fire, what getting burned feels like, then maybe it isn’t so bad. 

**iv. burned**

They’re careful, but not careful enough. It’s like that bible verse her grandfather always quoted: For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad. Her grandfather finds the two of them kissing. 

And that’s why Deb’s next memory comes in the form of fiery pain. 

She doesn’t remember most of it, but she knows that she broke four ribs and she has a concussion. Her eye is black and purple and her lip is split and Deborah has never seen her grandfather so angry. 

Deborah doesn’t tell anyone, and the doctor who stitches her up goes to Grandfather’s church and doesn’t report her unfortunate accident. 

This pain, this fire, Deborah realizes, is the fire that Grandfather must have been talking about. 

And still, it doesn’t squash the feelings that Deborah has for Linda. Pain and fire be damned, the spark in her belly is worth it.

Linda and her family move across town, and Deborah never sees her again. 

(Years later, when Deborah googles Linda and finds on her on Facebook, she learns that Linda married the same boy who bullied the two of them in middle school for liking girls. It would be funny, Deborah thinks, if it didn’t hurt so badly.) 

**iv. combustion**

Her next memory of fire is the fire of dissent in her belly, in her bones. 

“I’m a lesbian,” she says, and Grandfather looks at her as if she’s just told him that she’s a bank robber.

“Not under my roof, you’re not,” Grandfather says, his eyes cold and hard and angry.

“Then I’ll leave,” Deborah replies, her words surprising even herself. 

Grandmother is systematically avoiding Deborah’s eyes. 

“You’ll burn in hell,” Grandfather says. He scoffs. “Like mother, like daughter.” 

“I’ll go pack,” is Deborah’s sharp reply. The mention of her mother stings. Grandfather rarely speaks about her, and it is never positive, but this somehow hurts more.

“You’re not taking anything _I_ bought you,” Grandfather says. “I didn’t raise you to be this way, and I’ll be damned if I’ll support it.” 

“Ronald,” Grandmother says, speaking up for the first time. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be so hard on Deborah. I read somewhere that we can get help for her.” Grandmother turned to Deborah. “You don’t have to be this way,” she said softly. “You can change. There’s a facility. They can help you get over these thoughts and impurities.” 

Deborah shakes her head. “I’m leaving,” she says. 

“Deborah,” Grandma says, her tone soft and pleading. “You don’t have to go. You can-” 

“I’m leaving,” Deborah repeats. “I’m a lesbian, and I’ve know it for a long time, and if you can’t accept that, then I have no choice but to leave.”

Grandfather stands. “I’m washing my hands of this. If you want to be a dyke, then I’m not going to stop you. I just hope that you’re happy with your choice.” 

“It isn’t a choice,” Deborah shoots back. 

Grandfather levels a glare at her. “Everything is a choice.” 

“I hope you burn in hell,” Deborah says, and her assertion surprises even herself. 

If Grandfather were angry before, he is livid now. And he turns on his heel, ready to lunge toward Deborah. Deborah flinches. 

“Ronald,” Grandmother says. “Don’t hurt her.” 

Grandfather slows. “Get the hell out of my house,” he says. 

“I need to pack,” Deborah says firmly. 

She needs something, anything to survive. It’s the dead of winter in Michigan. She can’t afford to be out on the streets.

Grandfather sneers at her. “I’m leaving for an hour,” he says. “If you’re here when I come back, I will kill you. Do you understand?” 

And Deborah knows that he’s not over exaggerating. He’s threatened to kill her before. He nearly succeeded after what happened with Linda. 

“Fuck you,” is Deborah’s only reply. 

The fire within Deborah is raging, and for the first time, Deborah isn’t afraid of it. 

**v. ignition**

Her next experience with fire is years later, when she’s twenty-seven and her years in Michigan are well behind her. 

It comes in the form of very literal fire. 

She’s at work. It’s a stupid job pushing paper, but Deborah only has two years of college under her belt. There’s not much else available to her.

It’s boring and menial and the highlight of her day is flirting with her very straight, very married coworker three cubicles down. She hates everything about this job. She had always figured, after everything, that she would amount to something more, that she be able to be successful enough to throw it into her grandparents’ faces. But she’s a college drop out with no future, and the idea of pushing paper for the rest of her life seems too difficult to bear. 

It happens on “Bring Your Child to Work Day.” 

One of the kids puts an aluminum can in the microwave. The microwave, faulty and old as it is, explodes, engulfing half the kitchen in flames. It happens on Deborah’s floor, and the alarms immediately begin to sound. It’s lunch break, thankfully, so the majority of the people in the building have either left or gone downstairs to the cafeteria. No one likes being in the cubicle longer than need be. 

Deborah quickly stands and follows the exit signs to the stairs. 

She’s halfway down the stairs when she hears a familiar voice screaming. 

“I thought you had Samuel,” the voice is saying. And Deborah would recognize Elizabeth Wilcox anywhere. Elizabeth is the reason that Deborah can make it through the workday. Elizabeth is unlike any of Deborah’s other coworkers. She’s smart and driven and she actually wants to move up in this job, in this company. She has ambitions beyond pushing paper. 

“Why would I have Samuel?” comes the reply. It’s Elizabeth’s husband, Raymond. And Raymond is a jackass if Deborah ever met one. Why Elizabeth is with him, Deborah will never know. 

“You said you would watch him after lunch,” Elizabeth yells. 

“He said he was going to your floor to grab the tomato soup for lunch,” Raymond says. “I thought you would’ve grabbed him.” 

Realization dawns on Elizabeth’s face at the same time it dawns on Deborah’s. Samuel is probably near the kitchen, where the fire started. 

“Shit,” Elizabeth says. “I have to find him.” 

“Are you crazy?” Raymond yells, grabbing Elizabeth’s arm. “The firefighters will get him. You know exactly where he is. It’s not safe.”

“Raymond, that’s my son,” Elizabeth says, pushing past her husband. “I’m going to get him, but by all means, you go down and get the firefighters.” 

Raymond eyes Elizabeth up and down. Then, he turns and heads down the stairs. 

Elizabeth huffs, and begins to walk back up the stairs. 

“I’ll help,” Deborah finds herself offering. “It’ll be safer if we go together.” 

“Thank you,” Elizabeth says. They take the stairs two at a time, and Deborah is climbing faster than she ever has. 

“I know that looked really bad down there,” Elizabeth says, somewhat breathlessly. “Raymond tries to be logical and reasonable and he’s just… It’s hard.” 

They arrive on the second floor to find it covered in thick, dark smoke. 

“Stay low,” Deborah recommends, remembering the gist of every safety training she went through in school. Elizabeth nods, and the two of them crouch down. 

“Samuel!” Elizabeth yells out. “Sammy!” 

Neither of them can hear anything, so they crawl further, hoping and praying that they’re close to the kitchen. 

“Samuel!” 

They’re yelling in unison, their voices choked on air and smoke. The fire department has to be close, maybe they’re already here, climbing the stairs, ready to rescue them. 

“Mom!” Comes a choked, scared, pained voice. 

“Samuel,” Elizabeth breathes a sigh of relief. “Sam! Mom’s coming! Keep talking baby.” 

Deborah breathes a sigh of relief, and the intake of black air reminds her that their time in this space is limited. They will die soon if they can’t escape, and given their levels of smoke intake, they might die anyway. 

Deborah is focused on the 1 foot in front of her, one small movement at a time. She’s so focused that she doesn’t see in before it happens, doesn’t know what’s happening until she hears Elizabeth’s violent, blood-curdling scream. A large chunk of the ceiling has just fallen on Elizabeth’s back. The sight is terrifying, even with the thick smoke. 

Deborah moves toward Elizabeth, determined to remove the damned piece of ceiling herself if she has to. Elizabeth has to live. 

“Mommy!” Samuel yells, and he’s close, so close that there isn’t a way he didn’t hear that.

“Go to him,” Elizabeth says. 

“The firefighters will be here any minute,” Deborah replies. “They’ll get him.” 

Elizabeth shakes her head, flinching as she does so. “I won’t make it. There’s no way anyone could get this off of me in time. Sam, my Sam, still has a chance. Please, Deb, please.” 

And Deborah never understood her own mother’s motivations until now, until she sees the level of pain and utter anguish on Elizabeth’s face. Deborah knows it isn’t just from the ceiling. Elizabeth is aching for Deb to save her son, and Deborah will be damned if she doesn’t do so. 

“I’ve got him,” Debora says. “I’ll get him. Sam!” She yells out, crawling away from Elizabeth. 

“I’m here!” Comes Samuel’s voice, and he sounds so scared and so hoarse. 

“Sam!” 

“Here! Here!” 

He’s so close that Deborah can almost touch him. 

“Under here!” Samuel shouts. 

He’s under the water fountain. 

“I can’t move,” Samuel says. “My legs.” 

Deborah looks down at him. He legs are a mess of angry, red marks. He’s been burned, badly. 

Samuel coughs, trying desperately to wave the smoke from his face. 

“Here,” Deborah says, she removes her jacket and places it under the water fountain, trying to soak it as much as possible. “Put this over our mouth, okay?” 

Sam nods.

“We’re going to get you back down to your dad, okay?” Deborah says, because she’s not going to tell this child that his mother is either dying or dead, not before they’re out and safe. If Deborah knows anything about losing your parents, it’s that finding out can cause unpredictable reactions, and the last thing that Deborah needs is Samuel fighting her. 

“Raymond isn’t my dad,” Samuel says, removing her jacket from his face. “He’s mom’s stupid husband, and he hates me.” 

Deborah doesn’t know what to say to that, so she gently replaces her jacket and stands, determined to find her way out.

“Is anyone up here?” A voice yells out. 

“Thank god,” Deborah whispers. “We’re here!” She yells. “Here!” 

She can hear the footsteps getting closer, and she approaches them as quickly as possible. 

It feels like an eternity before there are two firefighters standing in front of her. 

“Are you okay?” one of them asks.

“I’m fine,” Deborah says. She coughs. “Samuel, his legs. He can’t walk and he…” She hands Samuel over to the firefighter who spoke initially. 

“Easy, easy,” the other firefighter says. “You have to stay calm if we’re going to get out of here.” 

“Samuel’s mom,” Deborah chokes out. “She… You have to help her.” 

“We’ll get another team up here,” the first firefighter says. 

“Elizabeth doesn’t have the time, she…” Deborah tries to push past the first firefighter, but he stops her. 

“We need to go,” he says. “We need to go.” 

Deborah stops fighting because she knows. Elizabeth is dead, and even if she isn’t, there’s no way they will free her before the building gives way, and Elizabeth asked Deborah to make sure that Samuel got out and that’s what she needs to do. 

The rest of that moment is a blur. And Deborah doesn’t remember anything between that moment and watching Samuel get loaded into an ambulance, Raymond nowhere to be found.

She’s sitting in another ambulance, receiving O2 as part of treatment and waiting for the ambulance to get things situated before she leaves.

She hears an exchange outside of the doors and then a firefighter, different from the one that previously treated her, enters the ambulance. He signals to the driver to begin driving, and Deborah can feel the truck lurch slightly. 

“I’m Pruitt Herrera,” he says. 

“Deborah Frankel,” Deborah replies. 

“My lieutenant tells me you saved a kid,” the man says. 

So, the man is a captain then, or someone equally high ranking. 

“I did what anyone else would’ve done,” Deborah replies. “Samuel needed my help.” 

“If you hadn’t gone back into the building, we might not have found Samuel on time,” Pruitt says. “And it was quick thinking, wetting your jacket to put over his face. 

“I paid attention in school,” Deborah replies. “That’s just fire safety 101.” 

“Quick thinking,” Pruitt compliments. 

Deborah eyes him. 

“I’m just saying, if you’re ever looking for a career change, the Department is hiring,” Pruitt says. 

Deborah smirks. “I’m on my way to the hospital and you’re soliciting me for a job,” she deadpans. 

Pruitt laughs. “We could use someone with spirit like you around the department. Maybe think about it?” 

Deborah shrugs, and files it away in her head for later. She doesn’t have the best track record with fire. 

**vi. kerosene**

As it turns out, Deborah loves fire, or fighting fire, that is. She quickly learns why Pruitt Herrera was so desperate to recruit her. The Seattle Fire Department does not have a single woman in the entirety of their department. They’ve recruited women, Deborah learns, but they’ve struggled to maintain them due to harassment and lack of workplace accommodations. 

It’s been a year since the fire, and everything has changed, all at once. She graduates the academy at the top of her class in everything but physical exams, and even then, she’s within the top five. 

The boys still mock her, but she keeps to herself, determined to prove herself in the best way she knows how: by working her ass off. She’s determined to go the extra mile, to have the best time and the best track record and the best scores. She won’t let bullying scare her off. She will succeed, even if it does kill her. 

Most of her fellow graduates have their families at graduation. Deborah has one person, two technically, but only one of them matters. 

Samuel looks good, in his rented suit. Deborah was worried he would be swimming in it, given the eight year old’s size, but it fits incredibly well. And Samuel does look good, better than he has in the year since he lost his mom. It’s been a tumultuous year for the two of them, but they have made it, healing together, in more ways than one. 

When Samuel pins her badge on her, Deborah again feels fire flare within her. This time, however, it’s warranted. She needs this fire, and she’s determined to hold onto it and to use it to her advantage. 

**vii. warmth**

She’s late, Deborah knows this, but she got off work late, and she’s exhausted. Better yet, she’s worn. She has some of the best rescue statistics in the department. She’s consistently had some of the best ideas in her station. She has every quality and requirement for a lieutenant, and yet, she got passed over for a promotion in lieu of Stevenson. 

Stevenson, the jackass who is immature, sexist, and a damned lawsuit waiting to happen. Steve, the man who was directly responsible for making the call that caused three preventable civilian deaths. Stevenson, the guy who can barely turn in paperwork to save his life. Fucking Stevenson. 

It wouldn’t have made Deborah so angry, she’s decided, if it hadn’t been for what the Battalion Chief had said. (“You’ve got the credentials, the passion, the test scores, but I don’t know if your team would be willing to listen to a woman.”) so Deborah was furious and she told Battalion Chief Carter, in his office, that she was coming for his job, and she was going to claw her way up the ladder if it killed her. (In hindsight, her outburst didn’t help her case, but it sure felt good.) 

Point is, Deborah is angry and tired and now she’s late for the meeting with Samuel’s teacher. Samuel, who has been struggling in school lately and “forgetting” to turn in homework and being rowdy and disruptive. He could be a straight A student, Deborah knows, but Samuel doesn’t apply himself. And now, Deborah has a meeting with his art teacher, of all people, to discuss Samuel’s performance in art class. 

Deborah hopes beyond hope that whatever Samuel did isn’t too bad. She’s not in the mood to deal with anything else, especially not after the day she’s had. 

Deborah knocks on the door of the room. 

“Come in,” a voice calls out, so softly that Deborah thinks she’s misheard. She pushes the door open anyway, desperate to get this over with.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she says. “Work ran long and-” The words die in Deborah’s throat as she catches sight of Samuel’s teacher. She is somehow both everything that Deborah expected from a middle school art teacher and also nothing like Deborah expected from a middle school art teacher. 

For one, Sam’s teacher has long flowy dirty blonde hair. It goes all the way down her back. Her black skirt is equally long and flowy, and it stops just before it reaches the ground, revealing her bare, perfectly manicured feet. (Deborah has to wonder, briefly, how many germs are on the floor of the middle school.) The woman is slight, too. Deborah has always been slightly taller than average, but Sam’s teacher is small, probably just over five feet, barely. 

And the woman is gorgeous. She’s wearing minimal makeup, as far as Deborah can tell, but what makeup she is wearing accentuates her features. She’s stunning, and it take a moment for Deborah to catch her breath. 

“It’s okay,” the woman says. “Sam told me you might be late. He tells me you’re a firefighter.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Deborah says, trying desperately to keep her cool. She’s decidedly not going to melt into a puddle like a love sick teenager. 

The woman laughs, and it’s a soft sound. “Please don’t call me ma’am,” she says. “That makes me feel far older than I actually am. I’m Grace Jones. Most of the kids call me Ms. J, but you can call me Grace if you’d like.” 

She reaches out to shake Grace’s hand. Grace’s grip is firm but gentle. “I’m Deborah,” she says. “Frankel,” Deborah gestures awkwardly to her jacket with her name tag using her free hand. 

Grace laughs again, and Deborah thinks that she’s be willing to make a fool out of herself everyday if it meant hearing that laugh.

“So,” Grace says, settling down at the table across from Deborah. “About Sam…” 

And Deborah is immediately on the defensive, because six years of these parent-teacher conferences have taught Deborah how to be calm and diplomatic about it. Sam struggles, even if he has gotten better in recent years. Deborah usually brings up the point that Sam is currently in counseling to work through some of his issues and that he does try his best in school.

“... and honestly, Sam is easily one of the most talented students I’ve ever had,” Grace finishes unceremoniously. 

Deborah pauses, because in her eight years of raising Samuel, she has _never_ had a teacher say that to her. Deborah wishes now, that she had heard the first part of Grace’s spiel, because it’s rare that she gets positive feedback about Samuel. 

“His artwork is incredible,” Grace continues. “And I actually wanted to nominate him to attend a Fine Arts Camp.” 

Deborah blinks. Once, then twice. This meeting hadn’t been at all what she was expecting. 

“That would be great,” Deborah says. She pauses a bit. “Will we have to pay anything?” She asks. Even with her salary from the fire department, they’re still just barely above water, and there’s no way that Deborah can afford to send him to summer camp, especially a fine arts summer camp. 

“All students receive a scholarship that covers the cost of the camp,” Grace says. “The only thing you will be responsible for is transporting him to and from the Institute, and, if that presents a problem, we can look into seeing if the school has funding via a grant available.” 

“Transportation shouldn’t be a problem,” she says. They can afford a plane ticket. Deborah can go without their usual summer mini vacation. 

Grace smiles. “You’ve done an excellent job with Samuel,” she says.

Deborah feels her cheeks flush. “I can’t take all the credit,” she says quickly. “His mom…” Deborah trails off. It still hurts, even after six years, to talk about Liz.

“Sam told me about his mother,” Grace says softly. “I’m sorry for your loss. But Sam also speaks very highly of you, and he draws you a lot, so you’ve definitely had a very positive impact on him.” 

Deborah flushes again, in spite of herself. It’s been hard, being Samuel’s mom and a single parent that works 24 hour shifts, but she manages, even if the days sometimes feel like an eternity. 

“I’m glad that Sam has found a class that he really excels in,” Deborah says. “He’s had a bit of a hard time in class.” 

“He’s really a joy to have in class,” Grace replies. “And he’s really passionate about art.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Deborah says. Sam draws, a lot, but he never actually lets Deborah see his work, and now, Deborah is more curious than ever. She might have to ask him again. Deborah looks around the room, curious. Her eyes catch a gorgeous painting a Mt. Rainier. The name scrawled in the corner read, ‘Grace.’ 

“Did you paint that?” Deborah asks. 

Grace nods. 

“It’s really pretty,” Deborah says. “What inspired it?” Deborah knows she’s grasping at straws, but she can feel the conference winding to an end and she really wants to stay in Grace’s presence. 

There’s just something about her that makes Deborah feel a very different kind of fire. It’s not hot or singing or burning. It’s warmth. 

To Deborah’s surprise, Grace launches into an explanation of how she was determined to climb Mt. Rainier and how beautiful it was when she got to the top. Deborah listens, rapt, attentive. 

They chat after Grace finishes her story, first about Samuel, but later Deborah finds herself talking about her job and her co-workers and that damned promotion. And Grace listens, and it’s amazing, and it’s absolutely incredible. 

“Ms. Jones,” a voice says. Deborah didn’t even hear the door open. 

“Yes, sir,” Grace says, sitting up straight. It’s just the janitor, but it seems almost if Grace’s demeanor has changed completely. 

“I’m about to lock up and just wanted to let you know,” the janitor says. 

“Thanks, Thomas,” Grace said.

Thomas shut the door. 

“We should probably get going,” Grace said. 

Deborah checked her watch. She had been there for almost two hours. “Yeah, Sam’s over a friend’s house and I should probably go pick him up.” 

Deborah stood, and then she paused, summoning her courage. “Forgive me for being forward, but would you like to go out sometime?” 

Grace’s face went carefully blank. “I can’t, I-” 

“It’s fine,” Deborah says quickly, wondering if she misread the signals. She turns to leave. 

“Wait,” Grace says, reaching for Deborah’s hand, and it feels almost like sparks are spreading across the area where Grace’s fingers linger. 

“I can’t _right now_ ,” Grace clarifies. “We had to sign a morality contract, and prohibition of same-sex relationships was one of the clauses, but I would love to go out with you sometime. I’m actually starting grad school at the University of Washington this summer, so I won’t be working here anymore.”

Deborah can hardly breathe. 

Grace grabs a piece of paper and scribbles something on it. “Here’s my number,” she says. “Maybe give me a call later?” 

“I- I would like that,” Deborah stutters out, feeling like a lovesick fool. 

Grace beams, and Deborah feels a very different kind of heat than fire. It’s warmth. 

**viii. flint**

Deborah loves fire, but this isn’t fire. No, this is smoke. Thick, blinding smoke. It’s smoke so thick and heavy that it feels almost suffocating. 

It’s worse though, because Anderson and Turner don’t trust her. At first, Deborah could hear their snickering at every call she made, but now they’ve quieted. They’re whispering to each other, and they’re far enough apart that Deborah can’t hear what they’re saying, even as they’re loud and breathy through their masks. 

It’s how Deborah knows that she’s doing well. The fire is contained and they’re making good time. Better time, than either Anderson or Turner. 

“You’re doing amazing,” Rodriguez says encouragingly. Rodriguez is very good at his job, Deborah will give him that, but he’s a little slower than the rest of the lieutenants her.

“Thanks,” Deborah says, trying not to let the sarcasm leak into her voice. Rodriguez is trying to be encouraging, but she’s spent enough time in this department to not be trusting of compliments of each other. 

“Ignore them,” Rodriguez continues pointing at Anderson and Turner. “They’re a bunch of jackasses.” 

She’s about to respond where she hears the creaking. Deborah looks up. Her visibility is limited but she knows that the ceiling is about to collapse. 

“Move! Move! Move!” She shouts to Anderson and Turner. 

Both stare at her blankly, and neither of them move. 

“Move!” Rodriguez yells, and both men are startled enough to actually move. 

The ceiling collapses what feels like a millisecond later. 

The back of Turner’s pants get caught, and he stumbles. 

“Shit,” he says, once the ceiling has settled. “My leg, I think it’s broken.” 

Deborah swallows, hard. 

Anderson and Turner exchange a look, and Deborah knows that, at that moment, her chances of becoming a captain are gone. 

“Anderson,” Deborah says pleadingly, but there’s no hope. 

Anderson simply smirks. “Mayday! Mayday!” Anderson says into the radio. “We have a firefighter down in the southeast quadrant.” 

“Do you need assistance?” Comes Battalion Chief Carter’s voice. 

“Negative,” Anderson says. “We just need to get the hell outta here.” 

“Everyone evacuate,” Rivers commands. “Aid Car is on standby.” 

Frankel swears.

Anderson helps Turner up.

“Let’s go,” Turner says haughtily. 

“Fuck it,” Deborah says, fire surging inside of her. “If I don’t find this dummy, I forfeit. Anderson, take Turner to the exit.” Deborah turns to Rodriguez, who appears visibly conflicted. 

“I’ll go with you,” he says finally, even if he sounds uncomfortable. “Buddy system and everything.” 

Deborah nods, and the two groups split up. Deborah finds the Dummy eventually, hidden in a closet, and they make their way out, making good time. 

Battalion Chief Carter and Chief Gaines are waiting for them. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Carter demands. “When a Mayday is called, you get the fuck out. Didn’t they teach you that shit in the Academy?!”

Deborah swallows hard as she places the dummy on the ground and removes her SCBA. She’s prepared to defend herself, to explain her reasoning. Her heart is in her throat. “Turner was awake and conscious and Anderson was more than capable of helping Turner toward the exit. A Mayday should’ve never been called and I-” her voice breaks. And of all the times in the world for her to become close to tears, this feels like the worst one. She’s angry, and she can feel the lump in her throat grow. 

Carter takes one long look at her, observing the way that her eyes are wet and that she’s desperately trying to hold back tears. He doesn't’t say a word. Instead, he turns and walks away. 

“This,” a voice says, and Deborah cannot identify it. “This is exactly why women ought not to be firefighter. Too goddamned irrational and emotional.”

Deborah bites her lip to keep from crying, and the fire in her belly, in her bones, surges just a bit higher. 

**ix. scintillation**

“You know,” Wilson says as he enters the turnout room. “My stepson goes to the Seattle Arts Academy.”

Deborah’s blood runs cold as she places her freshly washed gear in her locker. “Is that so?” she says.

“Mhmm,” Wilson says. He eyes Deborah up and down. “He says he knows your son, Samuel, is it?” 

Deborah won’t give him the satisfaction of watching her fidget. WIlson is a bully, and he gets off on watching people squirm, how someone with a power trip managed to become a lieutenant is beyond her. “Is that so? What art does he do? Sam does mixed media.” 

“He’s an actor,” Wilson replies. “But you and I both know that’s not what I came to talk to you about.” 

“Oh?” Deborah arches an eyebrow. She’s going to force Wilson to say it. She’s not going to back down. 

“My stepson tells me that there’s a rumor going around that Samuel has two moms,” Wilson presses. 

Deborah hums, determined not to let Wilson see the panic that has threatened to overcome her. “That’s interesting.” 

“I should’ve known,” Wilson says with a chuckle. “Of course you’re a bull dyke. I guess you’d better get used to the fire, considering that you’re going to burn.” 

And Deb doesn’t know what comes over her, but the next thing she knows, she’s sitting in Captain Ripley’s office, nursing bruised knuckles. 

“So what did he say to you?” Ripley asks, and Deborah stares at him. “You’re not one to go around hitting people without adequate reason.”

“What?” She says. “You don’t think I did it because ‘too sensitive?’ Maybe I’m just irritated and PMSing.” She bites out. 

Ripley laughs. He actually laughs. “I may have only been here two months, but I know that if you were sensitive and you did punch someone every time they said something offensive or made a comment, I don’t think Station 12 would have any intact noses.” Ripley pauses. “I’m sorry about that by the way.” 

Deborah shrugs. “I’m used to it.” She pauses for a long moment. It’s going to get out, one way or another. Better to tell him now, so that she can gauge his reaction, know if she’s safe around her boss or not. “Wilson called me a bull dyke,” Deborah says. “And that’s really not what bothered me.” 

Ripley’s face is almost completely impassive. He hasn’t reacted one way or the other. He’s processing, which is good. Most people’s initial reactions are inherently negative. 

“He said I was going to burn in Hell,” Deborah continues. “And historically, discussions about hell haven’t gone over well with me.” 

Ripley blinks. “Wilson is an ass,” he says. “We can send a harassment report to HR if you want.”

Deborah shakes her head fiercely. “I don’t want it,” she says. “It’ll make things worse. It’s like being bullied in high school and telling the principal. Wilson is just an insecure jackass, I’d rather not go through that.”

Ripley nods. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to suspend you, then,” he says. “Just because it’s technically unprovoked, although we can spin it. You guys will both be suspended for having an altercation while at work. It’ll just be one shift. I’m sorry.” And the thing is, Lucas looks genuinely apologetic. “I’ll try to keep a better eye on things,” he says. “Call things out when I see it, but they tend to hide things from me.”

“You’ve got quite the reputation, sir,” Deborah says. “They know that you won’t tolerate things. But like I said, I’m fine. I’m used to it, and I can live with a shift-long suspension. I’ll be able to spend the day with my partner and son.” 

Ripley smiles. “I wish I could do more,” he says. “I know it can’t be easy.” And unlike other people that talk about her trouble with the guys. He’s serious, and not at all pitying. He pauses. “Captain Ford has a heart attack,” he says. 

Deborah scoffs.”I know,” she says. “He was young. He’s home with his wife and kids now, eh?” 

Ripley nods. “He’s stepping down. There will be a Captain’s position opening up pretty soon.” 

Deborah scoffs. She’s been considering it. Ever since she heard the news. But it seems daunting. 

“Chief Gaines is asking for me to nominate one of my lieutenants,” Ripley continues. 

“You’ve been hear a month,” Deborah says, careful to keep even a hint of emotion, of hope, out of her words. 

“Gaines trusts my judgement, and frankly, I’d like to see you in the Captain’s race.” 

Deborah eyes Ripley skeptically. “Been there, done that,” she says. 

“I worked with Rodriguez before he got promoted. We get drinks sometimes. You came up a few weeks back, and he told me what actually happened. Still feels guilty about it, apparently.” 

“Rodriguez was the only one that day who actually tried to help me,” Deborah says. “It was definitely not his fault.” 

“Still,” Ripley says. “You deserve a second chance. I’m sending your name to Gaines.” 

The way that Ripley says it leaves no room for argument. Not that Deborah would argue. She’s wanted this for years. And now, she knows what she needs to do to actually have a shot. 

There’s a long but comfortable silence. 

“I’m surprised,” Deborah says, in spite of herself.

“About what?” Ripley asks. “That I’m recommending you?” 

“Please,” Deborah says easily. “Wilson is impulsive and crass. I respect you enough to know that he wouldn’t be your first recommendation.”

Ripley chuckles. 

“I’m just surprised that you don’t have a thing to say about my sexuality,” Deborah says. “Although, I guess it shouldn’t surprise you. Isn’t it the stereotype? A bull dyke firefighter?” 

Ripley looks taken aback by her crass language. “I don’t care what team you play for or which way your gate swings or whatever other euphemism there is. You’re a lieutenant, and a damned good firefighter, and I’m not one to ever let prejudice stand in the way.” 

Deborah blinks, once, then twice. “Thanks, Captain,” she says. Then she stands, turns on her heel, and leaves. 

The flames of the fire within her have been fanned, and Deborah will become a Captain if it’s the last thing she does.

**x. embers**

In the end, Deborah does end up taking Battalion Chief Carter’s job. (He’s retiring, but it doesn’t make Deborah feel any less smug.) 

She gets promoted on a sunny Thursday afternoon in a ceremony in front of most of the top brass of the department. Her wife (and it feels damned good to say that) is by her side as she swears into her position. 

Deborah notices that the fire inside of her, the one that has always been there. The fire that she’s remembered since she was a child, still rages within her. It’s tame now, not calm, never calm, but it’s a controlled burn, and it flares to life when it needs to be. She’s not afraid of it anymore. Deborah hasn’t been afraid of fire for a long time. 

At first, Deborah had believed that fire had shaped her, had molded her into the person that she was always meant to be. But Deborah knows now, that she is not a piece of steel that has gone through hours of shaping and molding. 

She is not steel because steel does not carry fire with it. It becomes hard and cold and lifeless. 

No, Deborah is fire itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Did y'all like it? Hate it? 
> 
> I wanted to create the parallel between Andy and Frankel's Captain test for a reason. Frankel yelled at Andy and told her what she did was wrong because no one did that for her. Instead, they dismissed her. Sometimes, people need really tough love in order to understand why what they did was wrong, and sometimes people need to be put in their place. You can't be in charge of others with a hero complex or while feeling like you have something to prove. Frankel may have went a little overboard, but her heart was in the right place. Anyway, I'm probably projecting because I literally wrote 6k about this woman, but we stan. 
> 
> Anyway, please comment.
> 
> Also, a massive shoutout to inqwex for inspiring my characterization of Frankel and helping me not to see Frankel as one massive bitch, lol.


End file.
